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The Liberation of Qu'no'os, An Invastion in Five Acts
--<< >>-- An Invasion in Five Acts 'ACT ONE: A TABLE DIVIDED ' Our ship was starting to smell like Vorta, and the crew was growing uneasy. Four days we’d been out from Rura Penthe, the Kuv’ filled past capacity with the most devoted soldiers of the Red Path. The last time this many souls were aboard was just after the tragedy of Bajor – 350 bleeding, crying Federation officers, and one Vulcan who wouldn’t take off his uniform, despite the heat. It didn’t feel right not having the green blood at my side… but Brigadier General Nezak has turned his focus on the salvation of a galaxy. Saving an Empire has fallen to me. Along with my faithful, the bridge crew has been swollen by new faces; Linkasa has taken Worf’s position, while Martok himself stands at my side – there’s a look in the man’s eye, like this will be his last command. It may be the last of many things. And then there is the Vorta. The Jem’Hadar Zero Godkiller towers over my men, but at least the brave Klingons see him as a dangerous foe; the one called Yeor Worldbreaker they know only as a Dominion wormtongue. They are not wrong… and yet there are those that would call us ridgeheaded savages, or worse. Redemption and forgiveness are the most difficult paths of all, for they only offer glorious combat against one’s self. These have been my thoughts lately. By the blood of Molor, I just want to kill something. “It seems that their weakest flank is the city of Kinlat,” said Yeor after I had laid out my attack strategy. “If we truly want to take Qu’no’Os, that will be the key to victory.” Linkasa laughed. “Foolish frail Vorta, Kinlat is a home for media rats and liars. Azaram’s plan is perfect – we shall strike hard and fast within the First City, sowing chaos as a distraction so that he may plant his bat’leth in the False One’s chest.” “Remember Linkasa,” I said slowly, “they are our people. For every Klingon we strike down, one less will walk beside us.” She silenced herself so quickly she seemed practically slapped. “What of this… Tong Vey?” Zero hadn’t spoken since he had stepping inside my war room, perhaps rendered silent by the stout table cleaved in two that still dominates the space – cutting it in half had taught Nezak a valuable lesson, I wondered if it would be lost on the Jem’Hadar. “If it is the city of war, we should kill it.” “If we walk our path true, then we shall be victorious before Tong Vey can respond” The Vorta adapted almost too quickly to our ways. I stood. “If there is to be a secondary target, it will be Komchi – it is the gateway to the Kethal Lowlands, Qo’no’os’ production hub, and the backbone of the lower houses. The High Council thinks that they own the people… we will remind them that it is the people who hold the leash.” “And what of the pickets, brave Azaram? Surely your brother - may his insides bleed - will have secured the border against you?” Linkasa spoke quickly, avoiding my gaze. “Dev vo’Qul Nezak and I began a project long ago for just this purpose. A deception more powerful than any cloak.” I didn’t mention that Nezak was unreachable, his conflict at the Briar Patch taking his full attention. I applauded his determination… just not the timing. The meeting was over, and the three strode out, leaving me to my thoughts. Thoughts which quickly turned to sounds of conflict in the hallway outside. I watched, without revealing myself – Linkasa and a half dozen of her largest students were arrayed against the puny Yeor, Zero at his back. I could not hear what was said, but I have some imagination. Linkasa’s fist cracked against the face of the little Vorta like a disruptor blast – I thought his head was going to rip clean from his body. But he held up two frail fingers, freezing the furious Zero. Linkasa however was not yet finished, preparing a second strike - The Vorta did not flinch; perhaps they are stronger then I was lead to believe. “Linkasa!” I bellowed. She came to my side like a cowed targ. “You are Dev’vo’Qul Linkasa, First Priestess of the Red Path. Would you have it be said that your path was that of the raptor, preying upon the weak?” “I bring glory to our cause by silencing the –“ “-You bring shame on yourself, for fighting a battle that cannot be lost.” Linkasa grew silent. She took a step towards me – the fire in her eyes was far from devotion. “I know well pain of a battle lost. Tell me, Azaram of House Korath… when you laid me down upon the stones of Nomat, when you took me, when you told me that you were mine… was that victory, or defeat?” I shifted uneasily, my robes suddenly heavier than the Armor of Kahless. “Linkasa… our paths joined that day. Here we stand, at the edge of greatness, and I needed you at my side. But my heart… when I lost Lukara that day – “''Gah m’koth, Azaram. Tell me not of other lifes, you are my ''Dev’Vo’Kahless, ''but your heart is your own. Why is it not for me? Am I not the strongest woman you have ever bested?Am I not brave? “You are these things, and more. But my heart… my heart was given long ago.” Linkasa is a strong woman, prideful; I do not think I had ever seen her more naked. “… then wait for your Romulan witch. You may not love me… but you cannot stop me from loving you.” She turned on her heel, gone with the force of a heat storm. I finally exhaled. 'ACT TWO: THE ONLY SHIP IN HISTORY… We had waited as long as possible, but Nezak remained out of reach. Without being able to slide through our enemy’s front door, I had begun to entertain other options. We could kick the door down, facing every opponent between the border and Qo’no’Os – it would be a glorious death, and we would never break the atmosphere. By adding another two weeks to our journey, we could loop around through the neutral zone, but tensions where already high enough – besides, by then my brother may have been victorious, and his fleet would have returned home, armoring our target in an impenetrable array of ships. “Let’s fly through this splotch” Zero said, grunting at our star charts. “The Praxis Nebula?” This was K’veld, my loyal pilot. “The Praxis Nebula is a maelstrom of class seven turbulence, the fallout of Klingon’s first war with humanity. The radiation is said to be so deadly, one has to stay below warp five for defectors to be any kind of defense. Any disruptor fire is liable to ignite the nebula itself, turning into the burning death. No ship in the history of the Empire has traversed the Nebula from end to end. It. Is. Suicide.” There was something about K’veld’s logic; everything he said was true. And yet… I could feel the thrill of destiny in my chest, as I slowly drawled, “…but it would drop us in Qu’no’Os’ lap. Even without the aid of the Vulcan, we would be well within their defenses.” “Captain,” K’veld held himself together admirably, “no man could make that flight.” I didn’t even realize Yeor was over my shoulder until I felt his breath on my neck, “Jem’Hadar train their pilots on class seven turbulence in their fourth month. To crew the helm of a Mark Two Battleship, they must be rated at class eight or above. I don’t wish to speak out of turn, but Zero was the greatest pilot in the Gamma quadrant 40 years ago. Now? It wouldn’t be hyperbolic to say that he’s the best pilot alive.” Moments like this are why we walk the path. When the storm comes, will we be rigid, or will we bend? “K’veld, you are temporarily relieved of duty. See to the shuttles, we may have use of them yet. Zero Godkiller? Take the helm.” A grinning Jem’Hadar is a terrible thing. Without hesitation, he ripped the chair from K’veld’s station. By way of explanation, he practically shrugged: “Jem’Hadar do not sit”. To call Praxis dangerous is to undervalue danger; some call the Nebula the gateway to Grethor ''itself. The first thing we met in Hell shouldn’t have surprised me – a Ferengi trawler’s net, meant to catch debris and small ships that wandered too close. Ferengi in our own space – they must be hungry for death. Zero was wise enough to pull up, rather than push forward. “Cluster torpedoes. Full spread. Punish them for trespassing.” A net holds nothing when it’s held by dead hands. The Jem’Hadar has fingers like coolant rods, and yet the ''Kuv lept to his touch like a well-trained welp. The Nebula was no small thing, but he never once moved from his post. One hour became two, became six, and still our ship rode the waves and eddies like a snowdrift, untouched and undamaged. Meanwhile, Yeor worked his battle math. Combined with Zero’s skills as a pilot, what should have taken the better part of a day took only half. It gave me time alone. I fool myself. I was not alone. I was with The Orb. I feel it’s heat, even when I am not near it. Left alone, it watches me like an eye. There are those who would call me mad… which is why this is a ship of the faith. Religion is a kind of madness, belief in that which cannot be cut, cleaved or bled. We believe in the path. And my path… my path winds to a distant star. Both the Vorta and the Jem’Hadar had one condition on joining this war: afterwards, we deliver the Orb to Bajor. They’ve been commanded by the aliens they call “Prophets”. I simply walk my path. We were almost through Praxis when we faced what I had dreaded; the hardened spine of Klingon defense. Bursting through a particularly treacherous eddy, the Kuv ''found itself staring down the barrel of a dozen defensive cannon positions – the same massive cosmic artillery that bombarded Rura Penthe. The ship lept to Zero’s command, but we were already taking damage. “Shields down to 20%!” Martok bellowed, sparks arcing across the bridge. “Captain, shall I return fire?” Linkasa said through clenched teeth. I shook my head. “Full power to engines, auxiliary to forward shields. Helm! Take us down their throat.” The bombardment continued as the ship shot forward like a rocket. Twisting, diving, Zero’s skill was unmatched – but it is simply impossible to stand in the rain without getting wet. A solid hit to our aft deflector array sent a shiver through the ship, and a console behind me erupted with heat. But then we were through, the lumbering canons only useful from one direction, a trick taught to me by a certain clever Vulcan. “Tactical, prepare to lay waste to the –“ my breath caught in my throat. The erupting console had been tactical… Linkasa was on her back. I stepped to her side, but it was too late. Half her face had been ripped way in the explosion, her body a husk. The entire bridge crew joined me in my scream; let the ghosts of Sto’vo’Kor know that a true warrior joins them, a woman who walked the path to the end of her days. She was the first to fall. She would not be the last. 'ACT THREE: THE MASSACRE AT KOMCHI AND OTHER CHILDREN’S TALES ' Exiting the Nebula, we finally heard from Nezak – and his voice came with thunder. Not only did he have the computer virus ready – like many of Nezak’s best ideas, he called it from an ancient Earth weapon, “Stuxnet” – but he had deployed the Cardassian Barada Damar to the distant edge of Klingon space in an assault on Khaegor’s secret power source. I told him we had deemed that satellite a low priority target. “It’s running inconceivable amount of power to every ship in the Imperial Fleet. Azaram, I’m not asking you to be logical. I’m asking you to walk with your eyes open. The power source had to go.” Any other man would have found my fingers around his throat, but there has always been something charming to being talked down to by the Vulcan. “I thought the Cardassian was at Arcanus with the Red Fleet?” “The Red Fleet remains. Damar has a … very fast ship. In fact, he’s already on his way to meet you. He should arrive in about two days. The Federation’s Dawn will be half a solar day behind.” “Greenblood, your crew said you were involved in the Briarpatch. That you were occupied. That’s days away.” “And we left days ago, Azaram ''Dev’vo’Kahless. The Klingon people need the Red Path.” He was hiding something from me. I have seen the Vulcan in many moods… martial zeal was new. It was what I would wish Nezak to say… which is something he has never done. “It will be good to see you again Brother. Mak’tah.” And with a terse nod, Nezak was gone. Stuxnet is a fascinating pet. A small virus, it travels through a closed network – in this case the Klingon Defense Mainframe – and eliminates all record of the Kuv, ''including scans as they happen. Combined with our cloak, our ship was invisible, and we cut through Qu’no’Os’ atmosphere like a honed ''dakh’tah. I hadn’t seen the bruised skies of my home world in over a year. I could tell that the Klingon’s on my bridge felt the same way – there is something breathtaking about the bladed towers of the First City, rising into the fetid air, thick with the heat of the day. “Zi’id, I want chatter. How fares the First City?” The Cordinite settled into his chair; from experience I knew he was parsing through several channels at once. After a moment, “I have news in the following order. Good. Bad. Bad. Bad.” “I will take the good news last,” and I braced myself. “Very well. The following news is ‘Bad’. You have been branded a traitor and outlaw. Your family home has been razed to the ground, and all assets of House Korath put to the torch. The council is currently in session to determine the next High Chancellor, and Bak, Son of Duras seems to be the front runner”. I had been wondering why smoke rose from the sky. But I had been branded traitor years ago – why burn now? “Zi’id, give me the ‘good news’.” “Your brother is dead. Khaegor’s fleet was crushed at Arcanus, and his life ended by an assassin who unceremoniously slit his throat. His death brought shame upon the Empire, and thus his name has been wiped from the history books.” They were not burning House Korath… they were burning House Khaegor. My brother… dead. The bully, the tyrant… dishonored for eternity. Every day he lived he put more lives at risk, brought more pain and hate to the Galaxy… and yet… “Whenever the high council is in session, the eye of the city turns to the central palace. Bring us to the low districts, that spume of smoke. It is the family arena. One could say it was where the Red Path was truly born. I fitting place to begin.” The Jem’Hadar shifted his feet, perhaps mistaking my hyperbole for conversation. “I was born in a tube”. ---//---\\--- Many think that a warrior’s greatest enemy is the man who will kill him; they are wrong. A warrior’s greatest enemy is time. Often, it is not what is struck that determines victory, but when. We waited. 36 hours in the ship, casing the city, listening for the moment. The council was no concern – Bak may be frontrunner, but the man comes from a traitor’s house, and he would find many standing against him. My brother’s fleet may be limping home, but if rumors of my brother’s death were to believed, there is literally only one woman in the galaxy capable of such a feat – the fleet would be going nowhere soon. True to their word, time saw both Nezak and Damar in orbit; I was heartened to see that Cardassian wearing the Red of the Path, an unexpected conversion. “It looks good on you, Dev vo’Lw Damar.” “There are some journeys you don’t realize you’re on until after you’ve reached your destination.” No man can shock me with his martial skill or courage; but the pain in the young man’s voice stuck me to the core. “I also lost a brother. A tyrant, and a bastard. I chose to kill him, because he needed to be put down. But that doesn’t mean I do not – “ “- See your focus put to the city of Kinlat.” Was it rude to cut the boy off? Of course. But it is best that your crew never see weakness; there is a time for grief and sympathy, but it is not on the eve of war. “Yeor will provide you with strategic details, but the capturing of the Media Hub will play a pivotal in our Victory. Do you understand?” Damar simply nodded. “I’ll kill as few Klingons as possible. But it’ll be tricky, because you die so well.” He clicked off. The boy walks a fine line; there’s a difference between being confident and being cocky – one is necessary for victory, and one gets you a punch in the nose. When we pinged the Federation’s Dawn – how I hate that name – Nezak had set up an automated response: “Brigider Nezak is gone for the moment. If this is an emergency, he can be reached at Komchi, kicking tires and starting fires. For the glory of the Red Path. BEEP.” So it was. We had waited. It was time to strike. We had been spreading Red Path faithful through the city; one native of the First City to every six provincials, so as to minimize the chances of seeing a familiar face. Yeor was happy to stay on the ship under Martok’s command, coordinating through the comms while we made our way through the city. My first steps onto Klingon soil, returning as a conqueror. '''I have returned home. Kahless had been silent for weeks: his voice was a sigh of relief. In the smoke and shadow, Zero and I walked alone. I had covered myself in a blanket, emulating the cruel symptoms of the Tholian Choke, while Zero simply used his Shroud. The plan was simple. My men would create a distraction; I would use my deception to get as close to the False One as possible. When that failed, Zero and I would kill everyone in our path. Glorious. Almost immediately it went to Hell. From the smoke and shadows, we found ourselves surrounded by 75 men. But they were far from Imperial forces; lead by a man named Rotan, they were Red Path, living in the squalor of my family’s failure. “Khaegor’s failure,” Rotan told me with the passion of a zealot, “…is our victory.” With these men in tow, we advanced on the city – I discarded my flimsy disguise: let any who face me see my armor, and know they face the wrath of the Dev’vo’Kahless. '' I received a hail from Yeor on the ship: “Azaram, Damar has taken Kinlat.” “Impossible,” I scoffed, “He has been less than an hour.” “Did you not say that timing is a warrior’s ally?” Blood of Kahless, save me from those that think themselves ‘clever’. “I’m also receiving word from Nezak. Something very… interesting has happened. You should see it.” “Well, I’m not near terminal.” “That won’t be problem.” Through the haze, the side of the nearest building became bright as day: The First City is riddled with emergency public service screens, large enough to seen by hundreds, and Yeor had cracked into the system. On the screen, I was shocked – Imperial soldiers, cutting down what looked to be red path soldiers. Not mine, but others… young men, good men, their blood streaking through the air. I heard their cries… “For Azaram!” they yelled as they lost their lives. Suddenly, the image shifted to the desk of The Qu’no’Os Nightly News – the Empire had but one news channel, and it was on all day long. All Klingon’s know the face of Gaht Mograt, first among newscasters; I had watched the man all my life, but I had never seen him shaken. On the screen – “I am being told that this massacre was recorded mere seconds ago, in the market square of Komchi.It seems that a hand full of, of what reports are confirming to be farmers from the lowlands, were denied entry to the city. When Imperial agents declared that it was because of their red clothing, the farmers rose up. Their deaths were glorious…” he put down the report he was undoubtedly reading at Damar’s gunpoint. “… But were they necessary? Members of the Red Path, slaughtered because of their faith, is this truly what our people have come to? Who of us don’t haven’t seen the red book, hidden under the armor of our brothers, or tucked into a corner of the ship? He paused, someone whispering from off screen. Turning back to camera, “… I’m receiving word that a Red Path Representative, a man known as ''Dev’Vo’Qul ''Nezak is about to speak… wait a minute, there has to be a... No, I will not have a ''Vulcan on the Qu’no’Nos Nightly – The scene shifted yet again; the face of Nezak was beamed to every corner of the planet; there was look to his eye that was at once passionate and removed, the cold fire of a distant star – but a star that burned bright. “The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. It is for us the living, to be dedicated here to the unfinished path which they who fought here have so nobly walked. From these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this Empire, under Azaram, shall have a new birth—and every man, no matter his birth, shall find honor walking the path of his own destiny. That man shall never perish, for his light shall always shine in the dark. Kuv vaD Kahless. Kuv vaD Dov ylk. Kuv vaD Klingon.” '' I have never been prouder of my Vulcan. Soon enough, Yeor had set that broadcast to loop – I could see with my own eyes the effects it was having, as Klingon citizens began to take to the streets. It seems our plans of carefully structured distractions would be useless – the entire planet was distracted. War had come to Qo’no’Os. 'Act Four: THE BATTLE OF RAM, PT II ' There is only one way into the Imperial Palace, and that’s through the massively thick front gates… the Gates of Kahless. I knew just how to knock. “Azaram to Martok. Beam a torpedo to the following coordinates.” I could hear a hitch in his voice, “These are the Gates of – “-Kahless?” He could not see my grin, “These are my Gates, Chancellor. No coward will hide behind them.” “To do this thing would be a desecration of our history.” “…This is not a matter of faith. This is your captain, giving you an order. See it done, or find yourself relieved of duty.” There was a long pause. When he spoke, it was almost too quiet: “…your vision may be glorious, but what you are building is no Empire for old men…” The single torpedo was beamed up against the thick stone walls that had stood for a 1500 years; I felt nothing but the kick of the blast, thrumming in my lungs. We charged through the breach, Zero un-shrouding to stand at my side, Rotan and his soldiers filling in behind us. The air was thick with the dust of destiny, debris still flying through the air as our blades met the throats of our enemies. But fighting the men of the Imperial Guard was not why we had come – they would be mine soon enough. Zero and I pushed forward, letting the others hold the soldiers at bay. Inside the Great Hall, I expected further resistance. Zero had slit a man in half outside, but we now faced room after room of unguarded, empty space. “Yeor did his job too well,” the Jem’hadar grumbled, “the city is in revolt, and the guards have been pulled way. Azaram, what good am I with no man to kill?” “You are more than a killer, friend Zero. Your presence may be more powerful than any blade in your hand. And if it does come time to shed blood…” I could not help myself, “simply smile: your face is fairly deadly by itself.” From the shadows we moved into the eaves of the Great Hall … the High Council was in session. I knew their faces – they had all been there that day, when the Emperor had my father beheaded. When my brother snatched away my life. The day that everything changed. Chang. Kor. K’mpec. Konjah. Kullor. Marab. Qolka. Tor’ash. Narvak. Veselka. ''Bak. '' They were the strongest families in the Empire. More than that, their blood pumped through the Empire’s veins, and nothing I could do could ever change that. What was about to happen… in their clouded eyes, nothing less than ''Deicide... these proud men may just take issue. If Zero and I had to take our blades to their chests, spreading their blood on the aged stone, the Empire would never recover. The old way would see them slaughtered, their corpses the foundation on which we’d build a new future; but a future built of corpses seems an unstable proposition. It was time for something new. I stepped into the flickering torchlight. It was always going to be this way. When they saw me, they drew their weapons. All but Bak, Kor and Chang: two the oldest warriors in the Empire – the third, a man whose name was synonymous with “traitor”. How could the Council be so blind as to let such a viper into their midst? My judgment was silent. “Have you come to bring this house down around our heads?” spit General Chang. “Azaram War Criminal. Azaram Vatborn?” “Drop that weapon, and we will make your death quick,” this from Kullor, a simpering fool. Needless to say, I did no such thing. “High Council of the Greatest of Empires, I have not come for your lives. I have come to burn away the chafe of our government, and end the rot that eats away at us all. I have come for the twisted false one. I have come to kill the Emperor.” “Then you commit suicide, foolish boy,” this from Bak, his chest resplendent with unearned trophies. “I remember you at our feet, young Azaram. On Qi’lop, you were a welp, mud on your boots. An unbloodied child, come to play at politics. You are no more now then you were then, a stain on a once noble house. A mad father. A tyrant brother. You are merely the last, sickly branch of a bloodline that that thinned to water. You have no honor.” I lifted a finger to hold Zero back; I didn’t need to see my friend to know that Bak’s life was on loan. “You offer insult to my house and family? Let no man say this is not justice. Bak, of House Duras…” I had not come this far to be stopped by a worm feeding on the sickly body of something that should be great; a man who had pledged himself to be an ally of the Path, only to turn on us like a Ferengi when it best suited his interests, “…Defend Yourself.” the strong words of a strong man/ mean little/ when he no longer has breath to speak. '' Bak’s body hit the ground with a wet thud. I had not planned to kill him… but I’d be lying if his death did not bring me satisfaction. “It seems you will need to find a new High Chancellor. House Duras… has lost its head.” “And would you take his place, Azaram? Following in your brother’s footsteps, a thug in the place of a fool?” Chang spoke for the group, but I could see a look in their eyes… the same look as on my father’s face, moments before Khaegor took off his head. “You mistake me. I have not set my sights so low. You call me Azaram, but I have another name. An older name, that haunts your dreams. I came from the light of Boreth. I wield the True Blade, and wear armor forged from the bones of our fallen God. I still feel the dust of Three Turn Bridge, and smell Lukara’s skin. The heat of R’am. The wrath of Molor. You know who I am, for I am the Unforgettable.” The song leapt from my throat: the warsong of Kahless, crashing from my lungs, as devastating as any weapon. As the words tumbled from my lips, I could see the faces of the council fall like candles melting in the flame. One by one, it struck them to their core, and they realized… I am the fire of the Red Path. I am Honor. I am Klingon. I am Kahless. “False One!” I bellowed towards the stairs towards the Imperial Chambers, “Come and face your destiny!” The room was thick with quiet. Eventually, the mighty words of the Emperor himself boomed out through the hall, echoing downwards from the exact heart of the Empire… “No!” The man could not even face his death with honor. “Yeor, Martok. Interface with Nezak. Cut through Imperial security. Bring the coward to me.” In a blaze of transporter light, he stood before us: the man known as Emperor Kahless, barely a day older than when a collection of the easily fooled exhumed the man from my father’s icy laboratories on Boreth. A scowl was on his face, an expression I knew well; though he was called Kahless, I knew him as something else… “Morath. It has been many years… brother”. “Brother Kahless. You should have come to my quarters.” I was glad he was no longer hiding his identity; finally, he had stepped into the light. I lowered by blade, a gesture of peace. “We once fought beside each other. We stormed the compound of Tyrant Molor. We freed our brothers from the shackles of the Iconian cloning beds. You are the one who set my feet on the path of destiny… brother, walk with me yet again. Step down from your false perch. Stand by my side as I heal our people”. But even as I spoke, I could see it in his eyes – a twisted madness, a fire that burned not with heat, but hate. I knew then what my father had warned me of was true; while I was a true clone, Morath was a twisted, half formed thing. He was no more my brother then Khaegor. Very well; my path has always been my own. He came at me with his blade, long considered the Sword of Kahless – I knew better. The two weapons clashed, and it was as if the fires of R’am rose around us. “Do you understand brother?” He bellowed, “It has always been for our people!” I slashed across his chest; he cut across my leg – we both spilled blood upon the stone. “You have no idea what is best for your people! You think only of power, and of Empire!” “Empire is all that there is! The united strength of us all, standing together. When the Gods return with their thunder, it will take nothing less!” Our twin blades crashed together, his spit splashing against my face. I spit back, “When the Gods return, I will kill them again!” He had no response; he merely snarled … and flipped a switch. Suddenly, his bat’leth gripped mine like the jaws of a targ; green energy flashed, and for just a moment, of all things, I thought of my Romulan’s eyes… and found myself clutching a bolt of living lightening. I had barely hit the ground before he was on top of me once again; to use a Romulan trick for the glory of the Klingon Empire was a coward’s path. I had no more words. I returned his blows with the wrath of a hurricane; with the passion of Linkasa, and the strength of Zero; the cunning of Damar, and the cold calculation of Nezak. I was no longer myself in these moments – I was not Azaram, or Kahless – I was a being beyond, and I could not be stopped. The False One would use tricks? Let him. I am the flood, and all those stand against me shall drown. He lay on the stone before me, lacking a second arm, a gash across his chest revealing that one of his hearts have been cleaved in half. The blood of the Emperor pooled on the ground… and I felt only pity. “Mercy!” He cried, “Mercy brother! I only ever sought to strengthen us… to make us strong… against Iconian threat…” “You led our people to their greatest failure. Declared war against our brothers across the stars. You may think you know me, but you do not. I am something new. Without redemption, all men walk paths of darkness. Choose a new path brother,” and I offered him my hand. His ''dak’tagh ''flashed towards me; I saw, and yet could not believe. Even as his short blade pierced my side, I could only shake my head. “Let the last death of your reign be your own.” His head flew across the room in a perfect arc of blood; the Emperor was dead. It was Zero who barked the words all quivered to hear: “Long Live Emperor Azaram, First of His Name!” And may the galaxy tremble in my glory. 'ACT FIVE: The Two Man War ' “And what will you do now that you stand atop the mountain?” “I suppose I will watch the sky.” Martok grunted; he was hiding the strain of his muscles by distracting me with questions, the fine art of Klingon conversation. It had been less than a week; the city had been in an almost constant state of triumph, the people caught up in the drama. Already it was becoming legend, and I Legendary; Azaram ''Dev voKahless, First of his name, Kahless Reborn, and Storm of Destiny. Let them revel; it would be time for action soon enough. “The council seems to support you. Which means they are probably plotting your death.” “Why do you think I have asked you to hone my Mok’bara?” It was the most ancient of Klingon martial forms, the basis for all true warriors of the Bat’leth – though it had been crafted by Kahless himself, Mok’bara ''was one of the few skills I found myself struggling to grasp; fire is known for many things, but patience is not one of them. “Have you thought about what I have asked you?” “To write in your book? Har, you wouldn’t want an old man’s ramblings marring your pretty pages.” “Not the book, though you’re wrong if you think the truth is pretty,” I said as I executed a complicated twisting gesture that Martok made seem effortless. The heat in the Imperial Chamber was oppressive; I had stoked a massive fire in the room’s impressive hearth. I had spent almost a day meticulously combing over the quarters, the hereditary home of the Emperor… and found nothing. Literally… the False One, for all his pomp and madness, practically lived an ascetic’s life. “Martok, I’m speaking of your return to the High Chancellorship.” He was silent for a long time. “You do not need me. You need a younger man.” “And who is that young man? Who is worthy to take your place? This is why we need your words in my book… this is why we need your ''Mok’bara.” I had him. “I will take the post Azaram. But only until you choose a successor.” Now it was my turn to laugh. “You misunderstand me Martok, I make war with a blade, not with papercraft. I leave the choice to you… unless the Council strikes fear into your old man’s belly?” “I fear nothing but having to watch another moment of that sickly twitching you call Mok’bara. ''I will see your Empire…” “…Set upon the Path?” “I wasn’t going to say that.” -----/------- The first meeting of the High Council under my leadership had gone well; seven declarations ratified, and only one man had killed himself. Unfortunately, that man was General Kor, Grand General of the Armed Forces, and Governor of Tong Vey; having been shunted off to a monastery at a young age, I had been deemed too sickly to attend the city’s military academies and training schools. Though I understand that Korath believed my spiritual journey to eclipse my martial, I was feeling the keen bite of ignorance. “The Tong Vey Valley is where every Klingon worth the name trains for military service,” I had asked Martok to brief for me the situation. “Currently seven schools have risen above the rest – ''Mok’bara, Bat’leth vo’Qul, Bat’leth vo’Nagh, ‘obmaQ, SIS’iw, HoH Ghop ''and ''Tam puv DuQwl. ''Each has a Grandmaster, a champion, and dozens if not hundreds of acolytes. With Kor’s death, each school has essentially risen against you, loyalty being prized among soldiers more than anything else.” “Even loyalty to their Emperor?” “You are no Emperor to them,” he scoffed. “Kor declared you outlaw and traitor, then took his own life rather than allow you to contradict him. They threaten full rebellion.” There was a long pause. “Chang and the Navy are at your disposal. They could shell the city from orbit.” I grinned; Martok could be hilarious. “I want their hearts, not their blood.” “Then you shall have to prove yourself. Until there is no doubt.” “Alone?” “I’m sure you could bring a ''cha’Diq. ''You are Grand Master of your own house, they could not fault you a Champion.” For appearances, I gave the moment its due consideration, but my choice was made as soon as he said the words. “…I have just the man.” ---//---- They had found him in a low town fighting pit; so far he had broken 37 legs, 48 arms, and 159 ribs- the queue to fight him extended outside the gates. “The monster with a butcher’s blade” they called him, and yet he hadn’t killed a man. “You told me to kill as few as possible,” grumbled Zero, “so I only killed their pride.” We were once again aboard the ''Kuv, the cramped quarters and stench a home like the Imperial Chambers would never be. Along with the bridge crew, we carried 30 Red Path faithful, lead by Rotan and a dirty man named Hegh’tah, a warrior who had somehow earned Zero’s esteem. Though they and the others were ordered to lift no blades, what good is such an act of glory if no one is there to witness? Two men. Seven Schools. A thousand warriors. One War. As we approached the valley of Tong Vey, I almost died of shock – Zero had in his giant paw a familiar red book; he turned pages with his fingertips. “I speak no rudeness, friend Zero,” I said as I noticed, “but I didn’t know that you could read.” “All Jem’Hadar possess a rudimentary knowledge of Gamma, Alpha and Beta quadrant languages; it is easier to crush an enemy if you can read their maps. But there are many words here that I do not know.” “Would you like to?“ He slowly stuffed the small book into his amour, and rose up; the jagged horns atop his head scraped paint of the hold’s bulkhead. If it was at all possible, Zero seemed larger than ever. “This place we go? I can kill?” “You must.” “Why do we kill? I did not know if he meant this question rhetorically, or was merely finding fault. Perhaps he had been reading my book after all. The bay doors of the Kuv started to open, the hot air whipping around our heads. “We kill for Honor.” I shouted over the rising wind, “We kill for the Future of Empire. We kill for the Path.” Jem’Hadar did not grin, but I could tell that Zero was pleased.”… and the Prophets themselves.” He tumbled backwards, rigid as a board. Falling end over end, the Kuv ''still easily 100 feet above the entrance to the school of ''‘obmaQ, ''Zero seemed to not realize that the ground was as deadly an enemy as any blade – At the last second, he twisted, and landed upon one knee with the force of a thunderclap, shattering the stone beneath him. Oh yes, I had chosen my ''cha’Diq ''well. The ‘''obmaq ''was a weapon only the most brutish chose to wield; a war-axe heavy enough to split a ship’s bulkhead. Zero had remarked on how similar it was to his own kar’tarken, and figured them for honored foes. The students of the ‘obmaq where only the largest, strongest and most powerful – at the heart of their school was the Klingon Great Forge, the flame of which had crafted the arms and armor of the Empire for almost two centuries. Zero saw them as worthy adversaries. It was only when I unloaded the acolytes to follow in his footsteps that I realized something – Zero was now guiding others on his path. His light burned away darkness. He was a ''Dev vo’Qul of the Red Path, though he could not even read our books. The Path of the God Killer. I had the Kuv ''set me down where all paths must start: the beginning. ''Mok’bara. '' Approaching the ancient school, the stonework reminded me of my father’s halls, and of our family manor along the fire cliffs. Old traditions and high Honor. Behind me marched Rotan and his men; I would have fine if they hadn’t watched me like men about to see a miracle. Not that they shouldn’t expect something miraculous, far from it – I just didn’t particularly feel like being much of a messiah. More then anything else, I’ll be honest… I wanted to fight. I strode towards the building’s closed gates, but even as I approached… “Honored Azaram, Emperor of the Klingon Star Empire, First of His Name,” I could not see the voice, but it rang through the building’s stone acoustics, “welcome to the School of Mok’Bara!” From the darkness of the gates I heard them coming; 15 warriors, wearing the same armor their father’s had worn before them. They encircled me, their movements crisp and practiced. I drew my bat’leth, assuming a casual stance that would have driven Martok mad. Mok’bara is all about timing. Often, the man who makes the first strike will be the first to fall. The 15 watched me. I watched them. They were little older than boys, really. Few would have crewed a Bird of Prey. In another world, these boys would be on their way to becoming ''Dev vo’Lw ''of the Path; knights of virtue, and truth. Such is life; they would take word of this moment with them to Sto’vo’Kor, and assumed honored status as my glorious foes. A boy of barely 40 years was the first to break; I knocked aside his blow with a lazy deflection. What happened next can only be described as a dance of precision, as each man maximized his maneuverability, no man getting in the other’s way, allowing them each the space to strike. My time with Martok had not been idle; I knew well the pattern of the ''Mok’bara ''form “Many Targs Strike the Traveler”. I struck each down in turn, knowing when their blows would land and when to duck away, until there was only one left. His brothers writhing in the steps, most dead or dying, the man dropped his blade, and offered me a bow. I continued forward, my men traveling behind me. The next room was empty but for an old man; thin as a reed, his skin looked to be made of hardened leather, his teeth like jagged yellow stones. But when the man lifted his bat’leth, it seem to be an extension of his arm, of his very body. All the man was doing was walking towards me, and I could tell that he knew more about the blade in his hand then I could ever dream. I had to strike him three times. The next room held their Champion, their ''cha’Diq, ''a man as tall as myself, perhaps twenty years older. He and I did not speak; we did not hesitate. Charging each other, I was shocked; the man’s speed was impossible, circling me like I my feet where made of stone. For every blow I landed, he would land three – and suddenly I realized why I knew this technique. It was the skill Kahless unleashed upon Three Turn Bridge; if only I had his full memories, as well as his blood. I killed this man as well. The Grandmaster wore only a robe. Out of respect, I removed my armor. Though I bled from dozens of cuts and wounds, I felt strong; this man was invincible. I do not hyperbolize; though I struck him repeatedly, this man took no damage, his heart burning with a kind of inner fire that I have rarely seen. I have fought Generals and Blademasters, Crystal Entities and Clones, but never before have I come so close to death. When the man lay at my feet, I grasped his hand, and I felt closer to him then I have ever felt for a brother – I still do not know his name. ----///---- We found Zero seated atop the peak of the Great Forge’s Furnace; I had the ''Kuv ''swing in low, the bay doors open for the man to jump aboard. He looked as though he had been to a Gorn wedding, bleeding from more wounds then should be possible to still live. “A fierce blade,” I said, nodding towards the bloodied war-axe in his once free hand. “I call it Second.” Zero replied, as he hefted his Kar’tarken, “First was lonely.” “I take it you conquered the School of ‘Obmaq?” Hegh’tah, the leader of the Red Path soldiers who I had sent with him, leaned in close: “That call it the School of Zero now”. After medical attention, Zero turned to the school of the Bat’leth vo’Qul, the masters of dual wielding the bat’leth blades<. Now that Zero carried two weapons, he desired the knowledge on how best to use them. I had the ''Kuv leave me at the foot of the School of the Bat’leth vo’Nagh. Their temple was the highest of them all, clinging to the top of the highest cliffs above the city. The air was cold, snow flurries brushing through the air, and at once I was reminded of the Monastery at Boreth – there was the same feeling of peace within these walls, the same calm that I felt during the long winter of my youth. The man waiting for me moved in utter silence; when I struck him, he blocked almost my every blow – the school of vo’Nagh was well known for it’s emphasis on patience, and defense. This man had perfect form; I simply hit very hard. The school’s Champion was a hardy man, who wore a red cloth around his bare arm; in this cold, any bared skin was undoubtedly burning. I knew this man would run from no pain. When we engaged, he turned my own blade against me, almost answering the ancient Klingon riddle: if Kahless is undefeatable, can he strike himself down? I killed him as well. Their Grandmaster was a man with skin like stone; a Klingon with a rocky visage reminiscent of Zero himself, this man was larger, tougher, and wiser then I would ever know. I struck him, carving chunks from his hide, but the man did not bleed, and he did not flinch. I struck him as a man strikes the trees of a forest, and he replied with just as much rage. I could feel it however, something happening…. There was the same energy building that I have felt in space, when an engine grows too hot, or a woman feels she has been slighted. When I took off the man’s head, he seemed genuinely surprised. I was told later that he had been preforming a sacred and arcane ritual that, had I waited but another moment, would have struck me down completely: a strike that would render any man, even the ''Dev vo’Kahless, ''completely dead. Though saddened I could not bear witness to such an event, I have grown rather accustomed to living. ---////--- We waited for Zero outside the ''Bat’leth vo’Qul. '' “Could he have fallen?” asked Rotan. I shook my head. From the buildings entrance there came a flood; grown men, screaming for their lives, many broken and bloody, missing limbs as they fled in terror. He came storming out behind them, a roar on his lips that sounded more beast then man. Covered in blood, when he saw the ship he came bounding to call. “Enjoying yourself?” He lifted both blades, twisting them in his grasp. ”Two blades are far better than one.” I could not fault him. We did not board the ship again – we simply walked towards the school of ''SIS’ew. ''The youngest of the schools and arguably the most dangerous, the ''SIS’ew ''were masters of short blades and shadows. I did not expect them to each be wearing the red of the path. Of the three schools I visited, all had members of the path within their ranks: I truly had no idea that my words had already reached so many. Zero and I both combined our skills to drop those who stood against us – there was a certain amount of joy as they sent themselves to their deaths. Around us, the members of school stood upon balconies, watching as their friends and swordbrothers brought glory to themselves as they fell before our blades. Eventually however, the killing stopped. Twenty lay dead, and the doors opened before us. I entered alone. As I walked through the shadows, the flickering light revealed that the walls were made of some kind of green stone. A massive statue stood in front of me. Compared to the glee of the exterior, the interior of this temple was somber, even funereal. The statue was in the same green stone, and seemed to be a hooded woman. Though her face could not be discerned, she clearly held in one hand a Klingon ''mek’leth, ''and in her other… a Romulan ''Cut’luke. ''Suddenly, I knew who’s temple I had entered, and knew that if a strike was going to come, it was going to come from the – I twisted at the last moment, catching her in the air; not my Ariennye, but a Klingon woman clothed all in black. Hitting the ground, she was on her feet in moments; much like my Romulan, the ''SIS’ew ''seem to like striking from the shadows. The ''cha’Diq ''of the school rushed me, her moves as subtle as a jungle cat; throwing her against the statue, I pierced her stomach with my blade, pinning her in place. “Speed is nothing if you do not know when to stand still” I told her as I helped her down; hopefully the woman wouldn’t bleed to death, but perhaps I was holding onto some longer held emotions. ----/////---- After the first five schools fell, the other two took the knee. And thus, Tong Vey was conquered. Along with the First City, Komchi and Kinlat, no Klingon could not say that Qu’no’Os was mine. Liberated from evil, with shockingly few dead, the Klingon Empire is finally free.